


Into The Woods

by remarkable1



Series: Life and Other Messy Things [3]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anger, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Arguing, Asgard (Marvel), Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avengers Do What They Want, Avengers Family, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Comfort/Angst, Crime Fighting, Dubcon Cuddling, Dubcon Kissing, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Government, Government Agencies, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Head Injury, Heavy Angst, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Injury Recovery, Kidnapping, Lies, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Magic, Magic-Users, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Minor Violence, Miscarriage, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, No Underage Sex, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Psychological Torture, Rescue, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Screw SHIELD, Seidr, Sex, Sex Toys, Shooting Guns, Shower Sex, Surprises, Teen Angst, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Wands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remarkable1/pseuds/remarkable1
Summary: Hermione flies out to visit Clint and find out exactly what's going on, and where they stand. From the start, things take a hard left turn, and not for the better.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Hermione Granger, Clint Barton/Hermione Granger
Series: Life and Other Messy Things [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584325
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's Off to Clint's We Go....

A/N: I've decided to separate this into different stories but bound together by the series, "Life and Other Messy Shit," so please subscribe to the series for continued updates of new fics. The series will be chronological. I'm writing as I go. Never meant to make it this long, but it's taken on a life of its own.

A/N/N: This veers into entirely different territory, but will not stray *too* far from our main couple. Lots of stuff just gets in the way. Thank my muse. I may just start calling her Murphy since I never seem to be an exception to Murphy's Law. Follows me wherever I go. As always, enjoy, kudos, review, and I am up for suggestions on where to take this if you want to put in your two cents, thanks!!

Hermione smirked to herself as she flipped through the random stations in her rental car. There weren’t many, but that was okay. The area was very rural, so she hadn’t expected much. What was funny, in her own mind at least, was the dismay on the face of any agent that had been sent to follow her. The witch wasn’t stupid, and she knew Coulson knew she wasn’t, as well. Yet they still treated her like a rookie. Planting tracking devices were standard. Keeping tabs on and following her was standard. It would take a lot more than Coulson's faux-disarming smile to pull the wool over her eyes

Fair enough. If they were testing her, they weren’t going to find her tripping up over rookie mistakes. Maybe this whole thing was meant to intimidate her. Get on her last nerve or some such bullshite. Did it matter?

The Owl to Harry would have to wait. It’s not like Owl post was a regular thing this far out in the ‘sticks’ as Clint would have coined the term. She only had a vague idea of where his house was, so she headed towards the tiny town in the distance.

The sky was beautiful; brilliant oranges, reds, golds, and hints of russet and purple, all turning to dark and shadowy starlight with only a sliver of waning moon left stamped into the birth of night.

A sign up ahead told her: City Limits – 'Welcome to Waverly, Iowa.'

How quaint. There couldn’t be too many families in the area with the surname Barton. It seemed like most of the state had some of the same last names, if you were looking at the generational folks that had lived here most of their lives. Barton stuck out like a sore thumb to the trained eye.

Turning a sharp corner, she slowed down a little bit and, spotting movement, slammed on her brakes, skidding and screeching to a stop right before a guardrail plunged a hundred feet down into a gorge. Thank the GODDESS, there was no oncoming traffic, or any traffic at all, bless, for miles in either direction that she’d come across.

Swearing, she backed up and parked in the narrow space on the side of the road, thankful she’d rented a compact vehicle. Jumping out, she yelled at the girl that had been walking down the middle of the fucking road that she’d only barely avoided running over with the car.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, walking down the middle of the road? I could have killed you!” she shouted.

The girl stood off to one side, arms around herself as if huddling for warmth. She wasn’t dressed well for the cold night air. As Hermione came closer, she saw the girl fearfully looking up at her from under long lashes, but she wasn’t running. Her hair was the exact color of Clint’s as was her eyes, but she had much more delicate facial features and was willowy thin, taller. If she didn’t know what an over-protective father he was, she might have guessed the girl was related.

Hermione knew Clint had three kids; a teen girl, a tween boy, and a boy right around kindergarten age. The only pictures she’d seen of the kids were when they were much younger, the youngest child still an infant, and Clint in love with his wife. This young lady only vaguely resembled the family. It could be anyone’s relatives. The heavy makeup didn’t do her any favors.

Reaching out, the girl flinched, and Hermione jerked her hand back a bit. “Hey. I – I’m not going to hurt you. You just startled me. We got lucky, and I’m starting to calm down from my adrenaline rush,” she soothed, which was a lie, but she didn't need to spook the girl if she was in trouble. Was she? She had a backpack slung over her shoulder, and her clothes had definitely seen better days. In fact, her face was dirty, hands full of dirt and scratches.

“Are you my ride?” she asked suspiciously.

It was a strange way to request a lift, but Hermione supposed it could be a regional way of asking for one.

“Yes. I’m headed towards town, though.”

“Good. Yeah. Me too.”

Which was also strange, because the girl had been headed in the opposite direction, clearly.

“Can I take your bag?” Hermione offered, but the girl shook her head quickly.

“Nah. I got it. Just – drop me off at the gas station. That’s where we’re supposed to be anyway.”

“Are you meeting someone there?” Hermione asked as they climbed into the car, she in the driver’s seat and the girl in the passenger’s seat, respectively.

“Duh,” was the only reply she got, then a muttered, “fucking foreigner. No wonder she was late.”

“I beg your pardon?” the irritated witch bit out. This rude girl was getting on her nerves already, and she hoped it didn’t represent the general attitude of the area’s population, or this was going to be a harsh and/or short visit.

“What’s your name?” Hermione asked, trying to be polite to the last, but the girl stared at her like she had two heads.

“Li-Linda.”

Lie. Plain as the bad mascara job on her face. Hermione bet she was underage too. Still, the girl wasn’t doing anything wrong, although hitchhiking anywhere these days was folly. She was lucky Hermione had stopped and not some creep.

She was about to ask the girl if she knew where the Barton residence was located when the girl pointed and said, “Let me out over there. I need to use the bathroom.”

“I need petrol and a few supplies. Can I get you anything? I’ll pay,” and Hermione smiled at the perplexed expression looking back at her.

“Why are you being nice to me?” ‘Linda,’ asked her, genuinely puzzled.

“I’m nice to everyone.”

“Right. Knew I wasn’t special.”

“Look – I –“ Hermione was going to explain, but the girl cut her off again.

“Nevermind, lady. We got here. That’s all that matters. You do what you gotta do. Don’t forget your part,” she hissed the last, impatiently unbuckling her seatbelt before Hermione had even stopped the car.

Before she could say anything further, the girl jumped out without looking back and headed to the side of the building marked, ‘Restrooms’ with signs for ladies and gents.

“Rude,” Hermione muttered, then, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” It felt petty, but really, without knowing her, the girl came off as entitled and abrasive. Glad she was out of her hair, Hermione filled up the car with gas and pulled it up the few feet to the parking stalls, turning off the engine.

She looked around the side of the building but didn’t see anything other than a parked semi, lights running overnight, probably a trucker sleeping until he could get up and get moving again. A dark sedan was parked further on at the edges of the street with a short row of houses further down. It really was a tiny town.

Not seeing the girl, Hermione sighed and went inside, selecting a few pre-packaged items to snack on until she could check into the hotel and get something more substantial in the morning. On a whim, she grabbed an extra bottle of water and a couple of candy bars. The girl might be hungry. The least she could do was get her something to eat and drink and maybe give her a few dollars to help her out. One never knew what situation someone else was in, and Goddess only knew Hermione was the last person to judge someone else. Plus, she felt like a bitch for thinking mean thoughts about the girl in the first place.

She placed her items up on the counter. The old man behind the counter put down his paper and smiled. “Good evening, little lady. New in town?” he asked, making small talk as he rang her up.

“Yes. I’m here visiting a friend. Perhaps you could help me. I know they live in the area, but my friend was vague about the details of where he lived, and there’s no cell service where he’s at. I’m worried about him and would like to check on him.”

“Sure thing. I know most everyone ‘round these parts,” he proclaimed. “I was born in these here hills. My grandpappy came over from ….” And he rambled on for a bit. Hermione paid, impatient for him to get on with it. Seeing as there as no one else around, she figured he was lonely.

After a couple of minutes, he finished his story. “So who was it you was lookin’ for, missy?”

“The Barton residence.”

“Oh! Well then. Them folks like to keep to themselves if you know what I mean. I dunno if I should tell you where they're about.”

“I’m a personal friend of the family.”

“How do they know you?” the old man named “Stuart” on his nametag asked her, a bit suspiciously.

This was getting tiresome.

“I work with Mr. Barton.”

“You’re not from around here. You're not one of them busy-body government folks, ar you? Nosing around? They in some kinda trouble?”

This was now bordering on ridiculous.

“No. Not that I know of. And no. I’m here as a concerned friend visiting a friend and co-worker. If you don’t wish to tell me of their location, that’s just fine, Sir. I'll be on my way.”

“You watch yourself, missy. Folks ‘round here don’t take too kindly to strangers nosing around where they’ve got no business be’in.”

“Goodnight, sir,” she snapped, taking her stuff and pushing her way out. She heard the old man snort and say something rude, cut off when the door closed.

Honestly. This was starting to look like a bad idea. She should have tried to get a hold of him first but didn’t know how often he came into town to check his messages. Or if he had any other kind of service at the house. He must. How else did he talk to Laura?

As these thoughts flew through her brain, she deposited her snacks and drinks in the car, wrapping the candy bars and water bottle with a 20 dollar bill in the plastic bag and rounding the corner. She had to use the loo as well. Hoping to catch the girl lingering outside, she looked up from fiddling with the bag to see the girl being dragged, literally, struggling with a man’s hand over her mouth, across the dirty concrete to the sedan parked on the edge of the street.

Beyond that, another sedan, also dark in color, was parked with its lights off, engine running, window rolled down, and a man in a dark suit gesturing to the one inside the car in the driver’s seat, pointing back at the girl. They seemed to be arguing about something.

“Be quiet, you bitch!” the man dragging the girl growled, and she kicked out, her frightened eyes spying Hermione.

The witch wasn’t sure what made her break her training, and later she’d curse herself a thousand times over for making the rookie mistake she’d just sworn to herself Coulson would never catch her making.

She yelled out, “Hey! You there! Let her go!” Mistake number one. Alerting the enemy to her presence, and losing the element of surprise. 

She winced as soon as it was out, but it was too late.

He turned in surprise and pulled a gun, putting it to the girl’s head. “Back off, or I’ll blow her brains out!” he yelled back. Hermione dropped her beaded bag and the snacks, brandishing her wand, slowing stepping toward’s the guy who was still edging toward’s the car.

“Come on, you idiot! Get the girl over here!” his partner hollered, then realized they had a situation on their hands.

The next part happened so fast it was a haze of memory. However, she pulled together enough to put together a semi-coherent statement later on when she’d regained consciousness.

Hermione cast a stunning spell right as a bullet ripped into her right shoulder. The spell spit from the end of her wand, knocking out the man with the gun and the girl at the same time, blasting them further than a normal stunning spell should have. She didn't have time to process anything else, another spell on her lips just as a second shot rang out, and a second later, a blinding pain ripped into her side, causing her to drop her wand and stagger back at the brilliant splash of pain. A third shot rang out, and she winced as the bullet passed so close to her ear she felt the wind rush by. 

She clutched her shoulder as she dropped to her knees, reaching for her wand. She grabbed it and rolled, trying not to scream as the pain bit into her like a thousand vipers, and another gunshot hit the ground less than a foot from her head.

There was no cover, and it was too far to make it behind anything. She’d have to try and cast.

Rising to her feet shakily and taking aim, another shot hit her upper left thigh just as she raised her wand, and she collapsed into the dirt, moaning, blood spilling from the wounds as her forehead hit the ground, the edges of her vision threatening blackout. She moaned, hearing the squeal of tires on the pavement as she rolled to her side, agony her only friend.

From her perspective, she could see the man she’d downed, stunned, hopefully still alive. Beyond that was another figure. She assumed the one that had been talking to the other in a similar sedan. The girl was nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck,” she moaned, “fuck fuck, fuck.”

She scrabbled for her wand with her left hand and couldn’t find it. She must have flung it when she fell. Instead, she focused on her wounds, pushing up her right sleeve with her left hand and folding it over the bullet wound in her shoulder to soak up some of the blood, which almost caused her to pass out again from the pain. Grasping at her right side, it seemed she'd only been grazed there. Her left thigh screamed in agony. She knew she wouldn't be able to walk even if her head wasn't pounding, dizziness threatening to swamp her thoughts.

Her head throbbed fiercely, and she fought to stay conscious.

A door slammed, and she was greeted by the sight of the trucker exiting his vehicle, half-dressed. Taking in the scene, he yelled, “OH my God!” and raced towards her, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his front bibs pockets, tossing them aside with a swear and getting on a cell phone, pressing buttons to get the emergency number.

She simply recalled hearing him talking to a dispatcher as she faded in and out of consciousness. The man was trying to ask her questions, but it felt like she was hearing him through deep water. The last things she remembered from the moment until she came to in the ambulance were lights and sirens descending on the area, lights flicking on in the distance, and what sounded like shouting and dogs barking.

“The girl,” she gasped out, the pain so great she finally allowed it to pull her under into sweet darkness.


	2. In the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is taken by ambulance to a local hospital and finds herself in an exclusive front-row seat to her own personal shit-show.

“Wha’?” Hermione blurted out, coughing when she came to on a gurney in the back of the ambulance. Paramedics worked above her, and when she tried to sit up, she found she was strapped down. “Where am I?” she asked, her vision blurry, voice sounding distant to her own ears. Her head felt like a watermelon inside of a drum, large, tight and full, aching so fiercely she moaned in agony.

“You have bullet wounds, miss. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

Fighting past the pain, but having difficulty concentrating, she attempted to articulate what she needed to say. What was important? Oh hell! Then it came back to her. All she managed to blurt out in a dry, scratchy voice was, “No- you can’t – you don’t understand – there was a girl,” she protested. Still, the female medic smiled kindly, pausing in her tending very briefly.

“Just lie back, miss. You’re in good hands.”

“But there was a girl –“

“There wasn’t anyone else at the scene beside you and two downed men, miss. Try to rest. You can give a statement to police when we have your vitals stabilized.”

A mask came down over her weakly protesting lips, and she promptly drifted back to that place of serene darkness where nothing hurt. There was no such thing as bullet wounds or agents or people that didn’t trust her. In the darkness, she was safe.

\--

The smell of hospital antiseptic was overpowering. Monitors beeped. The severe head pounding had abated somewhat, although she was loathed to try moving more than a tiny bit at a time, at least, in regards to her head. If she'd sustained a brain or spine injury, it wouldn't do to aggravate it. _Concutare,_ her concussed brain supplied unhelpfully. _Latin for; to shake violently._ The automatic recall would have been funny if it hadn't hurt so much.

Opening her eyes a slit, she observed that it was nighttime from the level of darkness just beyond the quaint window that graced one side of her room opposite the door to what she assumed was the entry/exit point.

A very dim glow from a lamp threw a sleeping man’s bulk into sharp relief. Hm. A snore sounded from his open mouth. Oh, how charming. 

Scanning the rest of the enclosed area, she decided it was safe to open her eyes. She instantly regretted the decision, snapping her eyes shut again when lights from something passing by briefly shone into her room, blaring right into her line of vision. After the stabbing in her eyeballs receded somewhat, she squinted experimentally. That seemed to do the job. Even the very low lights aggravated her eyesight, apparently. 

Hermione couldn’t tell if it was the same night as the incident or a different one. It seemed like every muscle in her body ached. She didn’t want to move and find out precisely what the damage was but felt like she didn’t have any choice. It was futile looking for her wand. She knew anyone at the scene probably wouldn’t have even known what they were looking at had they found it, and by now it had perhaps been driven over and ruined with the amount of truck traffic that seemed to go through the tiny town if her wand had been overlooked, wherever it landed.

With a sigh, she gingerly remembered she’d been shot in her right shoulder. Lifting her left arm gently, slowly and with great effort, she realized several IV’s were hooked up to that arm, a stabilizer bar taped around it and keeping them in place, so they didn’t get knocked loose. A blood pressure monitor was hooked up somewhere on her person, monitoring her heart rate and oxygen levels, no doubt. It beeped annoyingly, yet all she could feel was relief that she'd even survived intact. Relatively speaking. Several bags of fluids dripped slowly above and to her left, slightly behind the head of the bed.

The room was definitely small for a hospital room. What she could see reminded her more of a country bed and breakfast than a hospital, with a rocking chair in one corner, a nightstand, and a window overlooking a lawn filled with lights and a circular drive for traffic and ambulances. Okay, so second or third floor then, possibly. Local-ish hospital. Small or medium town, her mind deducted.

Then, of course, was the snoring bear of a figure man-sprawled in the chair that took up most of the rest of the available space that wasn’t already beset with machinery and the hospital bed. There was barely room for anyone to walk through the room to the other side. Upon closer inspection, when she squinted even harder, concentrating and willing her somewhat blurring vision to come into focus, she could just make out a badge of some type on his chest, then the button-down shirted uniform of a police officer. Okay. That made sense, she supposed, considering she’d been escorted off of a crime scene. She snorted internally that he wasn’t a very good guard, but on the other hand, she wasn’t exactly running out of here, either.

A little radio attached to the man’s front crackled, a dispatcher relaying information to another officer. Her gaze flicked to his face, but he snored on.

Carefully, she brought her left hand up to her forehead, feeling the bandages wrapped around her crown. The various I.V.'s and cords stretched, just barely allowing the movement. Her arm felt so fucking _heavy!_ Fuck. She must have hit her head pretty good. That would also explain the pounding headache raging through her brain. It sucked. _Concutare,_ her brain repeated. She wanted to growl and tell her inner academic to shut the fuck up.

Testing out the rest of her limbs, she confirmed what she already knew – her right shoulder was messed up. Wiggling her toes in her left foot, she raised it up off the bed an inch and winced, only because she was sore. Bending her knee slowly, she breathed out a sigh of relief that that part of her, at least, wasn’t scathed too severely, if at all. Her stomach and chest seemed to be in one piece, and it only hurt to draw breath in the general area where she’d been shot. The pain medication was wearing off or simply hadn't been enough. She recognized that that was the sensation that had awoken her as it throbbed even more painfully the longer she was awake.

Okay. One more. The instant she attempted any movement in her right leg, a blinding agony shot through her, causing her to yelp. That same gray-black fuzz threatened to send her back to the land of nod. The cop startled, adjusting his position and scratching his nose before opening his mouth once more in another snore. Whew. That had been close.

Nice. So, right leg or hip, inoperable. Nothing seemed to be paralyzed, which was a good sign. Hermione did not wish to alert anyone to the fact she was awake, just yet, until she figured out a little bit more of what situation she was facing beside her own injuries. A police officer in her hospital room did not bode well anything positive. Everything was a jumbled mystery at this point. Perhaps he was even placed there for her protection, and not to keep her there? That was a chilling thought. 

_Okay Hermione, relax, breathe slowly, gently, that's it. Rest your eyes. Now, what do I need to do next? Oh, right. Look for clues. Anything that can tell me more about the situation._ Her brain practically groaned with irritation at the work she was making it do. 

Checking again, she scanned the area with her eyes mere slits, noting none of her clothing or personal belongings were in evidence. Just as well, she supposed, although she worried about her beaded bag. It was a bitch getting undetectable extension charms put on items of that size, and the bag also held sentimental value. If the police searched it, all they would find is her cell, a tube of lip balm, an emergency tampon, some wet-wipes, and her wallet and passport, plus a few bank cards and cash. The fact that their entire arm could disappear inside of it, however, was _not_ something she wanted to explain to Muggle authorities.

Damnit. Fury was NOT going to be happy with her, especially if he got wind that the call I.D. she had programmed for him in her phone was, 'Motherfucker.'

There weren’t too many folks in her registry, preferring to keep a mental list to giving away all of her contacts in one convenient little package. The only other person in there besides Coulson (also disguised inappropriately as whack-job) was Clint, who was out of range if he was out at the farm, and Happy, who she had listed as, 'Taxi.' As far as she knew, the only way to reach the farm was over some special receiver Clint had installed on his phone. Otherwise, he'd told her there was no communication in or out, for the safety of the family. That must have been a real pain in the ass for his ex. Mind wandering fruitlessly, she twitched, stifling a yelp as a burst of static erupted from the cop's vicinity, garbled voices sounding faintly somewhere within it.

The radio crackled into life, much louder and more precise than before. “Gary, report. We have Feds. Over.”

‘Gary’ snorted and woke up, blearily rubbing his eyes and looking around. The radio crackled again, repeating it’s the message in an irritated tone.

Hermione had very quickly shut her eyes, pretending to be still asleep even as the pounding in her head grew, and the throbbing of her injuries turned into biting, stinging, burning, aching pain that shot up and down her right arm and leg.

She heard the cop get up and come over to the bed, leaning over her. She was guessing he was checking to see if she was awake or not.

Seemingly satisfied, he turned his back, and she slit her eyes open just a smidge. The radio crackled for a third time, but he cut it off. “Yeah, yeah. Gary here. What’s this about Feds? Ain't no Feds out here.”

“Feds are moving in. You’ll need to hand over custody of the prisoner to them. FBI or CIA, fancy.”

“Fancy hun,” Gary muttered under his breath. “Goddamn Feds.” Hermione assumed this 'Gary' was speaking to her when he muttered, still staring at his radio as if it held the answers to the Universe, "I don't know wut' you done ta' piss off them Feds, Darlin', but you better pray to God it ain't nuthin' too serious. We never get them assholes out this way. Prob'ly better, get ya' outta our hair."

These people weren’t very professional. She supposed they didn’t see much action in their neck of the woods. They’d probably re-tell this story for a century or more, making it more exciting the more it was told and the more that time passed.

Her amusing, garbled and excruciating mind wanderings screeched to a halt the second the door opened. Slamming her eyes shut and evening out her breathing, a man’s voice reached her from the doorway. “I’ll need you to vacate the premises officer. We’ll take it from here.”

“Good riddance. She’s all yers. Got better things ta' do than babysit a girl that might not even wake up.”

“Thank you for your service.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Gary rustled around, his bulk squeezing past someone as he muttered, “’ Scuse me, ‘scuse me,” and his footsteps faded into the background.

The room was eerily silent after the crackle from the police radio and the exchange of voices. Even the beeping of the monitor had ceased, as had any faint sounds that may have come from traffic outside in the distance. It wasn’t easy keeping her breath slow and steady. Still, she had a lot of experience with meditation, so it wasn’t challenging to concentrate on slowing her pulse, pushing back the pain even as it threatened to drag her back under. That might be for the best, considering the level of security that had just taken over.

Federal agents? Shit. Fury was gonna be PISSED.

A body moved into the space right next to the head of her bed, pushing a couple of the monitors and such out of the way. A large male hand moved over her wounds, aggravating the throbbing to a fever pitch. It took all of her strength not to react. Then the hand moved over her face and bandaged head, and a body leaned in, so close she could feel the man’s breath on her lips. His breath smelled faintly of stale cigarettes and the cinnamon gum he'd chewed to unsuccessfully cover it up afterward.

If he didn’t move away, she was going to gouge his eyes out. Somehow. This was fucking creepy.

She was saved from reacting by a female voice calling out in an aggravated tone. “Jus' what do ya' think yer doin'? My patient needs ta rest.”

The man’s presence was suddenly rescinded from her personal space, for which she silently thanked the unknown woman for her timing. If the man had pried her eyelid open and shined a flashlight into it, there would be no disguising she was conscious.

“This woman is under arrest and in FBI custody ma’am,” man-voice told her. Hermione wanted to giggle at the sharp harrumph sound that came from the woman.

“I don’ care if yer Abraham Goddamn Lincoln or the President of the You-Es-of-A. Ya' keep yer hands off my patient. 'Til she’s moved outta here, ya' got no right ta touch her.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be long. I’m just waiting for the word to transfer.”

“Alrighty then. If yo want ter' stay here, mind yer manners, young man.”

Oh, Hermione loved this woman, whoever she was.

“All this racket can’t be good for her recovery. Oh my, look, she’s sweatin'.”

The nurse bustled into the space the man had occupied, checking vitals and muttering under her breath about asshole feds. Hermione gathered the locals weren’t too happy about government stooges invading their town and sticking their noses into their business.

“Fever. Wunnerful. Prob'ly all the damn stress. Idiots.”

“Carla! Carla! Get in 'ere. Girl’s burnin’ up. Call the Doc.”

“He’s sleeping.”

“I don’ give a damn! He’s on-call, ain’t he? Doc Baker told us to call’im ‘iffin she got worse. A temperature of a ‘hunnerd n three is worse. Might be gettin' an infection, or brain damage.”

No wonder she felt like shit.

“Girls’ concussion on top of the head wound is nothing to mess around with," the woman muttered again, fussing around Hermione until she was satisfied with whatever she'd been fiddling with. "Needs more pain medicine."

“Shouldn’t this woman have been transferred to a larger facility already, ma’am?” sounded man-voice.

The silence was palpable, and she could just imagine in her minds’ eye the woman she assumed was a charge nurse giving man-voice that, _‘I ain’t no idiot,’_ stare she imagined the woman exuded.

“Ma’am?” asked man-voice again.

“What do you think, Fed? We got nothing going on in this town for the last three weeks other’n colds'n a broken collar bone and aches'n pains from old folks. Then in one night, we got a dead man shot in the head; another looked like he got struck by lightning and this girl. She’s stable for the moment, but we ain't got no fancy equipment to check her out further, either. That other poor soul was not so lucky. Looked like he got hit by lightnin', but no storms 'round these parts. Mighty strange. Anywho, the man took priority. Had to send him off. Vitals weren't stable.”

Shit. She felt a wave of misery descend over her. If she wasn’t concentrating so hard on maintaining her outward appearance, she might have shed a tear. Hermione knew she must have stunned the guy badly. That meant the girl was hurt too, and she’d been taken away by the fuckers in the other sedan that had shot the dead guy. Fuck it all.

“Seems like everyone’s out lookin’ fer trouble tonight. City only spared the one ambulance, and seeing’s how things are going ‘round here, we ain’t gonna send the one we got fifty miles to the bigger hospital less'n we got a damn good reason ta'.”

“We should be able to spare you the trouble,” man-voice told her in a snotty tone. “My department is taking charge of this investigation. This young woman is now in federal custody."

"Ya' already said that, Mister Fed. Tell me somethin' I don' know."

GODS Hermione wanted to laugh, pain or no pain.

Man-voice continued on in a tightly disapproving mien. "My superiors will arrange transport to a private government facility.”

“Well, I don’ care whatcha’ do just mind yerself when you’re here. Ya' might be some big-shot out there, but in here, I’m the boss. Remember that.”

Hermione almost choked when man-voice let out a softer, more timid, “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s better. Now. You gonna leave this girl alone? Doc Baker be pulling up any minute. He lives jus' ‘round the corner, and he’ll throw you out soon as he would a bear outta his house if you cause’im any trouble.”

“I’ll just sit here and observe her.”

“Lemme know if she wakes up. Otherwise, keep yer caboose parked. Ya hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a bunch of bustling, and what felt like a medication being administered to one of her I.V’s, but she wasn’t sure. A soft hand smoothed over her temple, nurse-voice using a much kinder tone towards Hermione, even though she thought Hermione was sleeping.

“There there now. I won’t let’em do nuthin' to you on my watch. You just hang tight young lady.”

With a pat to her good shoulder, the nurse bustled out, and all was quiet again. The pain and exhaustion overwhelmed her, along with some really good narcotics starting to take effect, and she went under once more.


	3. The Feds

Pardon the delay, my family was sick for two weeks, and we're just getting back on our feet. I *hope* to be able to update more than monthly once again (twice a month is my goal) but no guarantees ofc. Thanks for sticking with me! Please review if you like the story! Kudos are also much appreciated!

Another ambulance. It didn’t seem to have very good shocks, because it bumped and jolted along, and Hermione could no longer hold back her groan of pain. Everything in her screamed for relief.

“She’s awake,” came a voice, then, “Ma’am, can you hear me? You’re being transferred to another medical facility. If you can hang on, we’ll be there in twenty minutes, and we’ll get you some pain relief.”

“Hurts,” she croaked. Her eyes felt crusted shut, her mouth dry and throat sore. “Water.”

“I can’t give you anything until we reach the facility. I’ll let them know you need a drink.”

“Here, give her some of this,” came Agent voice again. Fucking great. Just what she didn’t need.

“Sir, I’m bound by law not to …”

“Well then, get out of my way. I need some answers from her.”

“Sir, you’re not allowed to…”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, you back-woods piece of shit hick. I’m tired of you yokels ordering me around. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

Agent-voice must have intimidated the other man because a shuffling sounded under the distant sound of the engine. They hit another rough patch, and Agent-voice bumped something because he swore. Hermione snorted, but it came out as a wheeze and pained groan.

“Here. Drink some of this.”

She felt the lip of a water bottle tipped up to her mouth. As she attempted to open her mouth, a rush of water poured in, some of it spilling down the sides of her cheek and neck onto the gurney beneath her, causing her to choke and sputter, desperately trying to clear her airway. 

Her left hand tried to come up, and she found it was bound to the bed. Of course.

“Goddammit. Are you trying to kill her? Get outta my way!” Paramedic-voice said. There was some swearing, a short scuffle, and someone hit someone else.

“I’ll have you arrested you piece of shit,” Agent-voice raged, and medic-voice responded acerbically, “Try it, Fed. You’re interfering in the care and transfer of a critically wounded patient. I know they’d take your badge if I reported you, so keep ‘yer trap shut.”

Agent-voice shut up, and the medic helped Hermione clear her airway. At long last, she gasped in a lungful of blessed, life-giving air.

“That’s it. Relax now. I’m not gonna let this fucker mess with you no more, miss.”

Hermione was beginning to change her mind about the locals. While they weren’t keen on foreigners and strangers, it seemed they were even less so about government stooges. She was beginning to like them more and more.

The rest of the ride was silent except for her yelps of pain, medic’s hand steadying her and talking to her a little bit from time to time. 

Hermione drifted in and out, in a place where everything was one wall of pain, and there wasn’t one thing in her body that didn’t hurt. _'Life **is** pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something,'_ came the unbidden, unwanted trivia quote from one of her favorite movies, "The Princess Bride." If she'd of been able, she would have laughed at the irony of the moment.

Then the ambulance pulled to a stop, and agent-voice snarled at medic, who opened the back doors. There was a lot of shuffling around and many more voices rising in tandem as those outside assisted those inside, a couple of them arguing directly over her prone body. Still, they were quickly lost to her hearing as someone wheeled her quietly and efficiently into what she assumed was her ‘transfer’ facility. She hadn't the energy to open her eyes. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the agony.

“It hurts,” she whispered. No one answered her. “Please. Help me. Hurts.” She tried again and again. On the fourth try, she went silent and still. Either they couldn’t hear her, or they didn’t care. Fucking great.

They went through several sets of double doors from the sound of the cart banging them open, and then a few sharp turns later, she was in an elevator, going down from the feel of it. Down? It didn’t register too far on her conscious scale, but her inner agent filed it away for later.

Out the elevator down more halls, and finally stopping somewhere. A room? Operating? Who knew. For all, she knew it was the fucking morgue.

Whoever had wheeled her in left, a metal door banging shut behind them.

Mere minutes later, the door banged open, and two women spoke rapidly to one another in another language she couldn’t identify. Or maybe just because her head was, you know, threatening to split into fifty thousand pieces. God, she was tired.

A thickly Spanish-accented voice addressed her in English. “You cannot sleep just yet. Open your eyes for me.”

“Tired,” she sighed.

“No, no, no. Open. Open your eyes.”

“Can’t. Tired.”

That rapid speaking again. Spanish? Portuguese?

“Hurts,” she tried.

The women quit arguing, and one left the room, coming back moments later.

“I’m giving you something for the pain. The doctor will be here shortly.”

“Thank you,” she whispered again.

“De nada.” Spanish then.

It felt like heaven when the sharp edges of her volcanic misery subsided to a dull roar of lava falling into the ocean, cooling but still hot and uncomfortable.

“More.”

“I cannot give you more until the doctor arrives.”

“Okay.”

GOD, she was tired. The mantra repeated ad-nauseum in her brain to the point of extreme irritation as she fought against falling asleep. The nurse was also trying to keep her awake, but she just couldn’t. She was so fucking exhausted. Blissfully, she felt that tug of darkness slide over her agony, winning the awful tug-of-war her internal body was fighting, giving in.

\--

“You’re going to let me into this goddamn building, or I’m going to have every single one of your asses fired and brought up on charges.”

Coulson simply smiled mildly at the confused, intimidated looks on the faces of the guards. Clearly, they were just lackeys doing their jobs. 

Stepping in at the tense stand-off, Coulson amended, “We take full responsibility for disciplinary action. It will not fall on your shoulders, gentlemen.”

The youngest of the three motioned to the others. “Let’em in.”

“What? Hell no!” the tall, red-haired, middle-aged chump argued until he heard Fury pull a gun and cock it.

Middle-sized thirties guy pushed red hair out of the way. “Sorry, Buddy. I’m not getting’ shot today.”

“Wise move,” Coulson said casually. Two SHIELD agents stayed outside of the building, maintaining the atmosphere of authority over said security chumps.

“I hope to God MACUSA hasn’t gotten here first. If they have, we’re going to have a fight on our hands.”

“Maybe we should let them have her first, sir. They could probably heal her a hell of a lot faster,” Coulson reasoned, walking quickly and neatly next to his boss.

“No. Once they pull their disappearing act, who knows if we’ll ever see her again. You know how important she was to the British Magical Ministry’s war effort. She’s a heroine. They might not let her back in the country. No, we know too little about how they operate. I need Granger. She’s our ticket to crossing this bridge with the magic-users and keeping it open. I don’t want to start a war with them for fuck’s sake.”

“As you say, sir.”

Oddly, they didn’t encounter a single soul until they came to the elevator. Fury’s gun waved the chump aside, who did so without a fuss. 

Apparently, not all of the people guarding the place were stupid. It could also have been the fact Coulson was subtly flashing badges behind Fury’s back. Whatever the case, they started downward.

“I hate these government hospitals. Especially the high-end security ones. They must not know who she is, or they wouldn’t have brought her here. I know one thing. She’s got to be hurt pretty badly, or she’d be out of here already.”

“I’d gathered the same. The folks at the country hospital were pretty tight-lipped.”

“You’ve got to hand it to Barton. He sure picked a good area to raise his kids.”

“Have you notified him yet?” Coulson asked casually, knowing damn well Fury hadn’t, but he wanted to hear him say it anyway.

“Hell no. The man’s got enough going on. Everyone at the Tower is aware by now she’s gone to see Barton, but she didn’t tell him she was coming. With no cell phone service out in the sticks, and most other types of communication unavailable at his assistance to protect his family from hacking or electronic attempts at locating them, this is for the better, at least for now. I don’t even know what they’re trying to charge her with.”

“I’d say a dead agent, one in critical condition, and a kidnapped civilian won’t look pretty on a rap sheet.”

“We don’t even know if she’s responsible.”

“I had a look at the guy in critical. It looks like he got blasted with something. If I had to guess, I’d say it was spell damage. I’m not wrong very often when it comes to that.”

“Yeah yeah. You and your connections.”

“Only a few, sir.”

“Well, hang on to who you know. We might need to dial in a few favors shortly.”

“Of course, sir.”

The slow-ass elevator finally let them out to the one other floor deep underground. Fury rolled his eyes. This place should have been decommissioned two decades ago. A kindergartner could have broken in if he had half a brain and a screwdriver.

“Damn, the Feds are cheap these days.”

“Tell me about it. Their equipment is even more substandard than Hicksville General Hospital.”

Fury snorted at Coulson's deadpan delivery of the nickname. “Then it should be easy to get her out of here.”

“Let’s reserve our enthusiasm until after the reunion.”

“Smartass.”

“Sir.”

Coulson and Fury exchanged a look as they walked quickly down the long hallway. The middle of the day, and no one here. Room after room after room, devoid of furniture. Empty.

“What kind of weird-ass military hospital is this?”

“A weird one, sir,” Coulson parroted impassively.

At the very end of the long hall was a set of double doors. Pushing through, they finally saw guards up ahead, who had already pulled their firearms. “SHIELD. Put your weapons down. By the authority vested in me as Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, I’m taking over control of this facility.” Usually, spelling it out sounded impressive for lowly goons on hourly pay, but it appeared this wasn't one of those times.

“You’re going to have to do better than that pops,” came another smarmy guard.

“Coulson? Will you do the honors?”

“Gladly.”

Five minutes later, the two guards were taking a nice long nap on the cold, cheap, cracked linoleum, divested of their guns and stunners.

“Sir, over here.”

The place was twisty, but the girl wasn’t hard to find. The shitty security, coupled with the fact it was the only furnished room with a light on, gave it away.

“Shit. She doesn’t look too good,” Fury muttered.

They pushed into the room, empty of human beings except for Hermione and themselves.

“Call in the cavalry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fury did some checking and swore under his breath.

“Idiots. She’s concussed pretty badly, and she’s unconscious. We have to get her out of here and relieve the pressure before the swelling causes a brain bleed.”

“I’m on it.”

While Coulson was on his walkie-talkie earpiece, Fury ran a hand down Hermione’s arm. “Hang on, Agent. We’ll get you out of here. People first. Duty second. You’re gonna be alright. I promise.”

Fury definitely wouldn’t have been so nice if he had seen her caller ID for him on her cell phone. Good thing he never would. It had been smashed to bits under a semi-wheel that ran through the crime scene before all the evidence was gathered. Bye, bye, cell phone.

What seemed to be an eternity, but was only about thirty minutes later, SHIELD medical finally arrived to take over. Not one doctor or nurse had come in to check on the patient, and Coulson's quick sweep indicated they had left the facility in a hurry, probably having heard the commotion when he and Fury took down the security. They loaded Hermione onto the jet, equipped for medical emergencies.

She was checked over quickly, and the man examining her closed his eyes in frustration before addressing Coulson. “Sir, if we don’t call in her people, she’s not going to make it,” a trauma medic told him, and Coulson nodded gravely, signaling to Fury.

“Motherfucker!” Fury raged, pacing back and forth beside the gurney in the private medical jet. “Those goddamn Feds fuck everything up! Screw them! Coulson, call your contact.”

“On it, sir.”

“Have them meet us at the facility.”

“Right away.”

Fury sidled up next to the frantic medic and put his face close to Hermione’s ear. “Come on, girl, come on, you gotta fight just a little bit longer! Show me what you’re made of! Don’t die on me, goddamnit!” he whispered harshly, dashing a traitorous tear from his eye.

\--

Chief Healer Barbara Fairbanks crossed her arms, the disapproving glare aimed at all and sundry that crossed her path as she stood outside the ward. Except for her own people, the only exceptions being Fury and Coulson, she allowed no one else into the medical bay. A couple of well-placed wards ensured their complete privacy. Aurors stood at either side of the entrance to the room, the shade pulled down, and a Silencing spell cast for good measure.

The Muggles were very, very lucky they had gotten Miss Granger to the healing facility in time. If it had been only a few minutes more, well, none of this would matter by then, but there would be hell to pay if the agent died on her watch.

She tapped her foot impatiently, knowing it was no good, and nothing was going to speed up the process of bringing the girl back to a state of stability if it was even possible. Her head injury was almost completely overlooked. Incompetent, barbaric, asinine –

Her inner tirade was interrupted when a head poked out the door, motioning for her to come in. She gave a stern glance to the two Aurors who both nodded once in understanding. Let no one through these doors.

Healer Fairbanks pressed through the small crowd, coming to the girl’s bedside. Her pallor was much improved, fever under control, and just by glancing at her, she could see the girl breathing easily. All of the backward medical devices had been removed from her body, potions administered, spells cast, and Skele-Gro given via wand infusion. Painful, but necessary, and cutting-edge. Not even the British ministry was cleared to use the experimental procedure as of yet. Thank Merlin, it had worked on the girl.

“What’s the word, Healer?” Coulson asked calmly, not a hair out of place. Did nothing ruffle this man? For a squib, he acted very much like a Muggle, if not for the fact she knew he was a squib, being his great-aunt. Contacts came in handy in magical emergencies.

One of the Aurors stepped into the room briefly. “Healer? MACUSA’s here. They want to take Agent Granger into custody.”

“Tell them to fuck off. I’ll be right out. If they can’t wait a few more minutes, I’ll blast them myself. The girl isn’t going anywhere. They’ll get their turn. Bloodthirsty sons-of-bitches.”

“I see you hold no real love for MACUSA either,” Fury drawled at her.

The room emptied of several Healers, apprentices, and a technician. Only two remained to monitor potions and vitals and record all of their actions for MACUSA’s recordkeeping, as well as SHIELD’s. Forms in triplicate sucked ass.

“We are not affiliated with them, as much as they hate it. AMHG (American Magical Healer’s Guild) will never bend to the tyranny that is the magical government.”

“I’m pretty harsh in my own judgments, ma’am, but not even I would call them tyrannical.”

“I have my reasons,” Healer Fairbanks hummed, running a few diagnostics herself. Finally, she addressed Coulson’s patiently waited out question. “She will live. Miss Granger isn’t out of the woods yet. She’s fortunate – and so are all of you – that she made it here in time. It was a very near thing.”

“I know. The local government got in the way.”

“Hm. Yes, well, be sure your people recover her effects. I daresay the small local hospital did a bang-up job stabilizing her. It was the aftercare that fucked up.”

“Her wand was obliterated, as was her cell phone,” Coulson stated. “They’ve got the bag she was carrying and the rental car in a secure storage facility. The FBI is unhappy we’ve overstepped into their jurisdiction.”

“We’ve always had overreach,” Fury returned, gesturing to the girl. “They have no right to pursue any sort of justice until we’ve done an internal investigation.”

“It is my understanding a federal FBI agent is dead, and another one severely damaged.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Coulson responded. “I called the other Healing Division director. He’s on his way now to make sure the guy recovers fully.”

“That old coot? Healer Alcombe couldn’t find his ass with both hands. Scandalous,” Fairbanks fussed, but she didn’t sound too put out. If anything, she knew the FBI agent was in good hands, as long as they were discreet.

“Do I need to be worried about this, Alcombe guy?” Fury asked.

“Not at all, sir. He’s been doing this for eighty years.”

“I forget how long-lived you people are,” Fury muttered, half to Coulson, half to Fairbanks.

Coulson’s pocket buzzed, and he frowned. Fury gave him the side-eye. Coulson ignored it, but it continued to go off.

“Take the damn call!” Fury snapped.

Pulling out his personal emergency cell, Coulson strode to a corner of the room, facing it. “Coulson.” He paused as the person on the other end spoke, replying, “What? No. I haven’t heard anything.”

Fury kept looking at the still form of his magical Agent, one ear listening out to Coulson’s one-sided conversation, Fairbank’s muttered conversation with the Healer-tech people, and the sounds their wands made when a diagnostic or charm was uttered.

Coulson walked stiffly back to Fury’s side. “Who was it?”

“Barton.”

“Barton? Why the hell is he calling you?”

“His daughter’s gone missing, sir.”

“Motherfucker,” Fury swore, slamming his fist against his thigh.

“He’s demanding to know where Agent Granger is.”

“Did you tell him she was on assignment?”

“No, sir. Everyone at the compound knows she went to see him, but Granger didn’t tell Barton she was coming.”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Fury said sarcastically, then, “Does he have a timeline for when she went missing?”

“The same evening of Granger’s incident with the Feds.”

“We still don’t know Granger's role in what went down.”

“We don’t. Preliminary reports suggest she was caught off-guard. It's possible she stumbled on the situation entirely at random.”

“That’s not like her.”

“She probably wasn’t expecting someone to fire a gun at her in hicksville,” Coulson observed casually.

“No. That’s a rookie mistake, though, Coulson, and you know it. Looks like Granger’s going back to Agent Pre-school for a refresher course if she’s ever fit for duty again.”

“She will be,” Coulson supplied with confidence.

“How do you know that?”

“I know her. She’s a fighter, sir.”

“I know her too. Probably better than you do. I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I’m seldom wrong, sir,” Coulson said, sounding a tad smug.

“Yeah? Well, you better be right. Right now, I don’t give a flying fuck if she’s ever back on duty. I just don’t want her brains to be scrambled. What a waste that would be. So young and brilliant. She’s got her whole life ahead of her.”

“Would you two take this gossip session elsewhere?” Fairbanks reprimanded, shooing them with both hands. “Your agent is in the best of hands. I have additional reinforcements coming in, and more advanced healing potions to keep on hand, just in case.”

“One question Healer Fairbanks,” Fury asked, holding up his own hand to forestall her protest.

“Just one, Mr. Fury. We’re very busy here.”

“I can see that, and I – we - appreciate your assistance. My question is, do you think Agent Granger’s going to come out of this with her mind intact?”

Fairbanks glared at Fury, holding his stare for a full thirty seconds before dropping her eyes. “I don’t know. We’re still trying to ascertain the full extent of the damage, but I’m afraid we won’t know until and if she wakes up.”

“If? What do you mean if?” Coulson interjected, breaking his cool façade as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it, my boy?” she replied, using his childhood moniker she’d given him so many years ago. “She’s in a magical coma. We had to induce it to get the swelling in her brain to go down. It was quite severe, but Miss Granger is young and healthy. She’s in top condition, or nearly so. She’s been taking a full regimen of fortification potions since her arrival in the States, per her records. She has a good fifty percent chance of waking up.”

“Fifty percent? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! I thought you guys were – better than this!” Fury raged at her until she lifted a finger at him.

He stepped back and mopped at his brow with a handkerchief he seemed to pull out of nowhere. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. I just – I didn’t think she was in that bad of shape.”

More softly, Fairbanks placed a hand on his shoulder, her mien turning motherly. “None of us did. Unfortunately, these things happen, and Granger knew the risks she was taking when she took the job. We're human just like the rest of the world. Magic is simply that - a tool - it isn't foolproof, and can't heal all of the world's ills with an incantation coupled with a swish and flick. That assumption is what you get for watching too many Hollywood flicks.”

“Yeah. Granger did know the risks, I just didn’t think .. well, it doesn’t matter. Keep us apprised. As soon as she wakes up or any other major changes.”

“There’s one more thing I almost forgot,” Healer Fairbanks said, grabbing the chart from a healing tech and running her finger down it. “Ah-ha. Yes, I don’t know who the father is, but I regret to inform you that Agent Granger has lost the child she was carrying.”

“Motherfucker!” Fury swore again, putting his face in his hands. "Jesus motherfucking Christ! She was- how the hell - fuck me. I swear to god if I hear one more thing wrong with this girl – I can't deal with this shit right now. I'm taking a break. Coulson, take over.

“Right, sir.”

Waiting until the uncharacteristically shaken Fury was out of the room, Coulson turned back to his great-aunt. “Barb. Give it to me straight. How far along was she?”

“You mean you didn’t know?” she gasped, her hand coming to her bosom, stunned by Fury's reaction.

“No, and I don’t think she did either. This comes as quite a surprise. It was my understanding she was taking the birth control potion.”

“Well, she was. I mean, she is. It’s indicated here on her chart. There were also traces of another substance I can’t identify. Can you perhaps take a look? It might have interfered with her regimen.”

Coulson only needed to peek at the chart for a fraction of a second before he went even paler than he usually was. “That’s a standard nutritional accelerant all new agents take to get their strength and speed up to par with the others. This right here,” he pointed to the chart, “is the activating ingredient. The rest are just tweaked and enhanced vitamin combinations. This is new. We were testing it out specifically on those individuals assigned to the Avengers Initiative, but it shouldn’t have interfered with anything she was taking.”

“Well, it’s the only thing on her chart that’s out of line, so I suggest you investigate it. Magic never interacts smoothly with Muggle medicines. You, of all people, should know that by now, boy.”

“Yes, ma’am. Guess we all made some rookie mistakes this time around.”

“See that it doesn’t happen again. She’s going to be upset enough as it is. Do you know who the father is? Oh, nevermind, you don’t have to answer that. Just an old woman being nosy.”

The techs stopped and looked at her, and she glared at them, forcing them to blanch and scuttle back to work.

Coulson leaned into her ear. “Yes. At least, I'm fairly positive who it is. If my assumption is correct, he doesn’t know either.”

“Perhaps it’s best if neither of them finds out.”

“We’ll take this one step at a time. When Agent Granger comes out of her coma,” he gave his great-aunt a stubbornly defiant stare, daring her to contradict his optimism, “we have a slew of legal hoops to jump through, an investigation, dead Fed, a missing girl now, the works. If she ever finds out, it isn’t going to be until all of this has blown over.”

“If that’s the case, I wouldn’t wait too long. Something like that could do her head in if she finds out you’re keeping it from her.”

“Don’t remind me. I’ll talk it over with Fury.”

“If she requests to see her chart, I’m bound by Healing Oath number three to provide her with her full record.”

Coulson just kept adding to the swear words in his head, starting to like the sound of Fury’s favorite one to describe this debacle.

“Alright. We’ll tell her, but only when you tell it’s a safe enough risk to do so.”

“Understood. Now, I must attend to my patient.”

“Thanks, Aunt Barb. I owe you one.”

“You owe me three now,” she shot back, softening her thorny response with a wry grin that matched Coulson’s to a T.

“Three it is. Call them in anytime. I’m good for it,” he teased, and she swatted at him.

“Oh, go on, you rogue. You don’t fool me.”

“Bye, Aunt Barb. Love you. Give Uncle Joe my best.”

“I will, son. Call him soon, will you?”

“I will.”

Coulson strode out after his boss, waiting for the next part of the shitstorm to hit. It wouldn’t take long.


	4. Out of the Woods, Into the Thorny Thicket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girl comes around, Tony tries to pry info out of Fury, and Clint's pissed as hell.

“I want some goddamn answers, Coulson!” Clint shouted into his phone, pissed off when he heard Coulson click off. “Hello? Hello? Fucking sonofabitch!”

He threw the mug he’d been drinking coffee out of at the far wall. Jameson came out from behind the counter and laid a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, son. You’re upsetting my other customers.”

“Sorry, man. My daughter’s missing, my girlfriend’s missing. My wife’s got cancer. My older boy is scared his momma’s gonna die while playing poppa to his younger brother to give his mom a break. My life’s a fucking mess.”

“I sympathize with you. Can't have you taking it out on my walls. You just broke up a collection smashing that mug.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Clint muttered, morose, shoving a hand through his already messy hair. “I swear to god I’m getting satellite. I’m gone from civilization for a few days, and the world goes to hell. Figures.”

“Son,” Jameson warned.

“I know I know; I’m going. Here. For your trouble.”

“I don’t need your money, Barton. Just don’t wanna see you get into anything the wrong side of legal with all this other shit going on. You want me to get Marnie over to the house? Keep yer wife company? She ain’t doin’ nothin’ these days ‘cept knitting for our new grandbaby coming next month. Do ‘er some good to get out of the house. Drivin’ me crazy.”

“Yeah, sure, that’d be great.”

“I’m on it, and son?”

“What?” Clint was distracted, distraught, and up to his eyeballs in anger, frustration, and confusion. He wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into every goddamn thing within ten feet. He definitely needed to get away.

“You need anything out at that farm, you just say the word. We all got your back.”

“I know Jameson. I appreciate it.”

“Off ya go.”

Clint left the 50-dollar bill on the table for a tip. It was the least he could do for scaring the shit out of two families and three old ladies.

He strode quickly to his 4x4, hopping inside and burning rubber out of town. Clint had a private range he’d built on the far side of his property. First, he’d blow off some steam, then he’d make some phone calls to set up satellite to the house. Fuck being out of touch. That’s what had partly allowed some of this trouble to happen in the first place.

Despite the remoteness of his family’s home, he figured enough people knew about it at this point that if someone really wanted to attack it, they probably could without too much trouble. He knew Laura wouldn’t move house in the middle of being sick, so he’d have to arrange for extra security. Just one more fucking thing to worry about.

After being up all night searching for his daughter, he was exhausted, but filled with unholy rage.

He gunned it, blowing by the local cop who recognized his vehicle, shrugged, and pulled the hat back down over his eyes to nap a little longer.

\--

Hermione woke, eyelids fluttering open. Another hospital room. She imagined someone was playing musical gurneys with her while she was asleep. At least her pain level was tolerable, and she wasn’t bumping up and down in an old ambulance with an FBI agent breathing down her neck while she was on the brink of death.

She blinked. Bits and pieces came back to her. The girl Linda, the agents. One was shot. She’d stunned the other. Shit! She got dizzy and closed her eyes tight, the room taking a few minutes to equilibrate.

“Fuck a duck,” she swore, touching her head with her functioning hand. The bandage was gone. A tender spot on her temple was the only sign she had a head injury beyond the dizzy spell. Afraid to move very much, she called out, “Can I get some water?”

Hurried footsteps rushed from behind her. The room was huge. It looked like it could be used for just about anything. Apparently, it was a medical facility of some kind, with rows and rows of machines lining the far walls. She was, once again, the only person she could see. Bays of beds were empty. Glancing at her bedside, she smiled at the potion vials lined up and neatly labeled. No wonder she felt halfway decent. Someone had gotten magical healers to treat her at some point. It sure did beat the patch-job they did at the other places she’d been at.

“Miss Granger?” A reedy young man addressed her, pushing hair out of his eyes every two seconds, large round glasses framing his face. He reminded her of Harry, except this bloke’s hair color was dirty blond, and he was much taller and skinnier.

“Yes? You are?”

“Apprentice Jackson. I’m attending you this afternoon. Healer Fairbanks went to get something to eat.”

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Hermione breathed, relief flooding her entire being.

“You know her?” Jackson asked, taking the opportunity to give her a small paper cup with cold water and ice chips. “Small sips, please. She’ll have my wand if anything else happens to you,” he told her plainly.

Obeying the cute apprentice’s advice, she motioned when she was done. “Yes. She was the one that did my physical when I arrived in the States. They rotate the position, or at least, they did when I passed through. Very nice woman. Professional. I like her.”

“She’s one of the best. You were in pretty bad shape.”

“I seem to remember bits and pieces of my injuries, but it’s all blurred together and fuzzy with a few incidents standing out, like a movie I missed parts of.”

“That’s normal. You had a hell of a concussion. It's going to take a while for your memory to return. I'm sure you'll be getting plenty of time off to rest and do some rehab.”

“Was I? It couldn’t have been concussed _that_ badly! I'm awake - and although I feel like shite, most of me seems to be in one piece,” she joked weakly.

Jackson gave her a funny look. “Miss Granger, no offense, but we didn’t know if you were even going to wake up. So yeah, I’d say you’re pretty lucky. I’ve gotta go finish my charting. I’ll be back over in a minute to see if you need anything and change your dressings. I’ve got another round of potions for you, including a pain potion, in fifteen minutes.”

“Swell,” she murmured, unaware when he hurried off to wherever he’d been behind her somewhere. It sounded like she was a living miracle. How many lives did one witch get? Surely this was her fourth already. It reminded her of all of the times Crookshanks got into impossible situations he always managed to weasel out of. He’d finally met his match at the end of another tomcat’s claws defending his territory, but Crooks was ancient at that point. He’d had a good life; he was just always a wanderer. Kind of like she was. She missed that old tatty thing.

Healer Fairbanks bustled in, surprised to see Hermione awake and alert. “Well, bless my soul! There you are, child!” She hurried over. “How are you feeling?”

They went through the rigamarole of tests one does to determine symptoms and severity of ailments of the nature Hermione suffered from. After ten minutes, the poking and questions were over for the moment, the apprentice coming back to give her her potions. She took them dutifully.

“Did any of my effects get recovered? I need to make a few phone calls,” Hermione asked, concerned when Healer Fairbanks’ eyebrows drew together. She pointedly waited until the apprentice scuttled off again before answering her in a low voice.

“About that. It seems you’re in a bit of legal trouble, young lady. A few of your SHIELD agents are guarding your door to keep out the Federal riff-raff, but as it stands, they’re waiting for discharge to arrest you.”

“For what? I haven’t done anything!” she told Fairbanks, alarmed at the news, pushing against the bed to sit up. A rush of dizziness and a pounding inundated her brain. She fell back against the pillows, groaning and holding her head. A series of intense cramps rocked through her lower abdomen, and she yelped, her hands flying down to her groin.

“Of all the stupid – do NOT try to sit up, child! You almost died just a short while ago!” Healer Fairbanks fussed over her, hastily brandishing her wand to relieve the worst of the girl’s cramping. It worried the Healer. This should have been taken care of already. They weren’t ready to tell her yet, it was too soon. Fairbanks had lost a couple of babies early on and knew that many young women didn’t take it well, even if it seemed not to bother them. A lot of professionals internalized their pain, which was the last thing Granger needed.

“Oh, Merlin. I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong, though! I was helping that girl, and she –”

“I must advise you to watch what you say. I do not want to be questioned about any confessions you have to make. I’d rather focus on your health. Save it for your SHIELD superiors.”

“Right.” Keeping her eyes closed, she could practically feel Fairbanks’ disapproval radiating from her. The woman still hadn’t answered her question, but it didn’t matter. If she indeed was in a lot of trouble, she doubted she’d see any of her lost stuff for quite some time, if at all. The feeling of disapproval dissipated, but all the same, the tone was set. Something terrible had happened, implicating her in a crime. Just how bad it was, she had yet to find out.

\--

“Stark, what the hell are you doing here?” Fury bitched, slamming a fist down on the desk he was sitting behind, the makeshift office on the jet barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Man, he _hated_ fieldwork sometimes. Fury inwardly promised himself to kill the sonofabitch that tipped off the Iron-Pain-In-His-Ass.

“When one of my friends is in trouble, I help out. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fury evaded, knowing it was useless with Stark, but he tried anyway.

“Don’t give me that bullshit story. I know you know what happened to Granger. Clint’s going berserk. Did you know his wife has cancer?”

“Ex-wife?” Fury corrected, and Tony just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. Still, did you?”

Fury ran a hand over his bald head. At the rate he was doing so, it was going to shine like a bowling ball that had just been waxed. “No. We didn’t know. Barton never said anything.”

“That’s because Clint didn’t know. He just found out. Guess she’s been keeping it from him so he wouldn’t worry about her. He mentioned something a while back about her asking him for more money. Wasn’t happy about it, either. That’s probably what she needed it for, caring for the three kids.”

“Motherfucker.”

“Exactly.”

“I wish Laura had come to me,” Tony mused, playing with his goatee.

“You’re a nosy motherfucker. No one’s going to come to you with that kind of secret.”

“Can it, Fury, I don’t need your shit.”

“Cut to the chase. What the hell you want from me? Not that I’m going to give it to you, mind,” Fury snarled at him.

“You need to tell somebody what the fuck happened to Granger, even if it’s not me. Clint’s daughter’s missing. Shortstop’s gone. Just tell me one thing; is she dead?” Tony’s eyes glistened, and Fury could see the lack of sleep, a bit of purple and red puffiness surrounding his scruffy face. The man hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, either.

“Which one?” Fury knew damn well he was referring to Granger, but stubbornly made the man work for the information. It rattled him all over again to know Lila was missing. What the hell was intel doing, making a side trip to a motherfucking carnival? What the fuck did the girl’s disappearance have to do with Granger? Were the incidents even connected? Too many questions remained unanswered for Fury’s taste.

“Which one? Granger, dumbass.”

Ignoring Stark’s insult, Fury sighed heavily, deciding just to give him an inch, and refuse the mile Stark was bound to demand in retaliation, never satisfied with a nugget, always hounding after the entire bone. “No. She’s not dead. Look – Dammit, Stark! I can’t tell you where she is, how she’s doing, or what’s going on. You need to be patient.”

“She’s my fucking friend goddammit! Avengers look after their own!” Tony shouted, bringing both fists down on Fury’s desk. At the black man’s cold stare, Tony huffed and took a step back, crossing his arms. “What do you expect me to do, just sit back and twiddle my goddamn thumbs?”

Fury tried to throw him a bit more info, knowing it wasn’t much. “Look. It’s admirable you want to look out for Granger. This is a little more complicated than we’ve let on, and I cannot disclose any of those reasons to you or anyone else until we get some questions answered.”

“Fair enough. Can I see her?”

“No! What the hell did I just get done telling you, man? Are you deaf?”

Tony shuffled around the tiny makeshift office, touching everything, knowing it pissed off Fury. Ignoring his question, he glanced at the irate man and continued as if Fury hadn’t said anything. “If I can’t see her, can I at least let Clint and the team know she isn’t dead?”

“Yeah yeah. That’s fine.”

“Gee, thanks for everything,” Tony replied sarcastically. “So that’s it? What about his daughter, you know where she is too?”

“No,” Fury conceded reluctantly. “We’re not sure if she ran off, but I have a hunch she was taken against her will. The last place she was seen was outside the gas station Granger stopped at. A trucker got up to take a piss and looked out a window, the description matched that of Granger and the girl. Said she got out of Granger’s car.”

“What the living fuck?”

“That’s what we’re still trying to figure out. When Granger wakes up, she’s got some hard questions to answer.”

“SHIELD taking care of all this?”

Fury’s lips pressed together tightly. “You don’t know when to shut the hell up, do you?”

“Come ON, Fury! This not knowing is killing me! You know I’m not going to say anything!” Fury hated the whine in Tony’s voice. A grown man, survived terrorists, fucked half a billion women and owned so much money he could shit it in his sleep and still make more, and the dude whined like a motherfucking six-year-old kid nagging his old lady for an ice cream cone.

“Fine. We have a dead FBI agent on our hands, and another one stunned – looks like Granger knocked him out with some sort of spell.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly. The Feds are being assholes, as usual, but they said she fucked up some sort of sting they had going on. They admitted a girl was involved but wouldn’t say how. All we know is the other perps got away. We’re assuming they took the girl with them. At least we haven’t found a body.”

“OH, _that’s_ reassuring. I’ll just tell Clint, _‘Hey man, your girlfriend’s alive, but she’s hurt and who the hell knows where or how badly, and by the way, your daughter was involved with the FBI, and now the bad guys got her?_ You fucking bet that’s gonna go over real well.”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you a fucking thing, Stark! You know what? You’re staying here.”

“You can’t hold me here! I’ve got a company to run!”

“No, you don’t. Pepper runs Stark Industries. The Tower is quiet. Cap can hold down the fort. YOU, my friend, are staying on this godforsaken base. At least until we get a story out of Granger and shit straightened out with the Feds.”

“Can I call Clint?”

“Yeah, but only if you’re standing right here next to me. Then you’re going to give me your watch, your phone, and if you brought it, your goddamn armor.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“This isn’t a bargain. This is serious shit. I’m not fucking around.”

Tony studied Nick’s eyes, realizing the gravity of the situation really was a lot more severe than he’d thought. He had initially figured Fury was bluffing, hating his nosiness. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright. I hear you. Um, lemme call him. If I can’t get him, I’ll leave a short message. Just chill out. I’m on the same side.”

“You better be. I don’t need two of my best people under investigation. The sooner we get the Feds off of our asses, the better, but I don’t think it’s going to be that simple this time around. I can’t risk you going off half-cocked and fucking up my investigation.”

“She’s a suspect, isn’t she?” Tony asked quietly.

Fury’s silence told him all he needed to know.

Of course, Tony got Clint’s voicemail. He kept it short, told him Hermione was alive, but it was complicated and classified, and to hang tight, that Fury would be in touch when he knew more. Clint was gonna go ballistic, but at least he’d know his girlfriend wasn’t dead. It was something.


	5. In the Thick(et) of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion reigns as no one knows what the hell is going on.

Lila was terrified. She’d never been more afraid in her entire life. This wasn’t supposed to have happened this way. 

She was supposed to be home, her mom’s bills paid off, her dad chilling out, pleased that they were taken care of, and her family back together. Maybe her mom and dad would even get married again. It all seemed like a distant memory, and she silently said goodbye to her family as the tears rolled down her face, soaking into the gag her captors had stuffed into her mouth.

Trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving, she bounced around in the stuffy, smelly trunk of the sedan with what she suspected was a dead body. She tried not to think about it too hard, but it was tough the way it kept rolling into her when the assholes that kidnapped her took the corners a little too hard.

What seemed like hours passed before the car stopped. A couple of doors slammed, then the trunk was yanked open. A flashlight shone right in her eyes, forcing her to squint furiously. She couldn’t see anything except two silhouettes. One leaned in and pulled a winter hat over her eyes and down past her nose, which made it hard to breathe. She tried to grunt a protest, but all she got for her trouble was a punch in the gut. 

Curling up into a ball, one of the figures lifted her like a sack of potatoes, threw her over his shoulder and trudged silently through what she assumed was a wooded area, by the sound of the wind soughing through the boughs of the trees above and crunching of leaves underneath. The dude was BIG. Like, really big. Could probably really cause some damage if she resisted any more.

A rusty-sounding metal door squeaked horribly after one of the men clanged against it, opening it, and she felt them descending down a set of stairs. After only a few moments, another door was opened, and she was thrown onto the floor, bruising her tailbone, the awful smell assaulting her when she landed in something soft, slimy and squishy. Crying softly into the gag, she turned onto her side, curling up the best she was able, ropes biting viciously into her wrists and ankles. The door slammed, and all was silent.

Lila just knew she was going to die. She wondered how long it would take before they killed her. Her poor Mom and Dad. Poor little brothers. All of this was her own fault. If she would have turned the agents down, she’d be safe at home helping her Mom like a good daughter. They were going to hate her if she got out of this alive.

\--

Cap paced the floor, wanting to punch something, wanting to run until the air ran out of his lungs. What the fuck was going on? Why wasn’t Stark –

That thought was interrupted by the buzz of his Stark tech phone in his back jeans pocket. Pulling it out smoothly, he pressed the talk button, every muscle tense.

“Rogers.”

“Coulson.”

“Report.”

“Stark’s gonna be tied up for a while. We need you to hold down the fort until this situation is under control.”

“What situation? What aren’t you telling me? Why didn't Tony call me himself?” Cap demanded, his frustration level just rising with his irritation. Why the hell did SHIELD think the Avengers couldn’t be trusted with classified information? Whatever they were withholding, it was serious, and now affected no less than three of their members. Knowing that his demands wouldn’t be answered, he changed tactics.

When a prolonged silence met his demand, he conceded, “Don’t answer that, Coulson. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Thanks Cap. We knew we could count on you. Just hang tight. Field any incoming concerns, only ship out on the most urgent missions. Highest level code. Everything else can wait or be relegated to our secondaries.”

“The secondaries are still in training, you know that,” Steve told the other agent, a hint of anger in his voice.

“Don’t kill the messenger,” came Coulson’s easy voice.

“Yeah, I hear that a lot. Would be nice to know who I _can_ kill.”

“Easy Cap.”

“Yeah yeah. So that’s it? Keep our eyes and ears open, stay here, stay out of trouble and hold down the fort?”

“Pretty much.”

“I don’t really feel like I’m earning my pay sitting around with my thumb up my –”

“Look. We don’t like this any more than you do. I have to follow protocol.”

“Yeah. I get it. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I know you’re worried. We are too. Do like I said, and that’ll be one less thing for us to worry about.”

“You got it. Rogers out.”

Coulson hung up and Cap shoved his phone into his back pocket with a growl. His sense of justice and rule-following warred with his sense of protection, family and what was right. Goddammit they couldn’t just sit there and do nothing! What the hell else COULD they do?

\--

At the same time Cap was on the call with Coulson, another Avenger’s cell went off. Thor was busy running Bucky’s race car off the road, the two literally shoving into one another, tongues in cheeks, controllers being waved in every direction as if they were actually driving the video-enhanced vehicles.

“Brother answer your mobile device. Your ringtone is aggravating,” Loki drawled, referring to Thor’s rendition of ACDC’s _‘Thunderstruck’_ going off over and over. The God of Mischief was flipping the page in a book while doing his best to ignore the two idiots having it out over a child’s game, as much as he didn’t and wouldn’t ever admit he played it in the dark of night when everyone was sleeping and loved the hell out of it.

It kept ringing. “Answer the damn phone!” Loki yelled, slamming his book shut.

“Fine!”

Thor threw down his controller and Bucky swore. “Hey man, I was winning!” Bucky whined, but Thor held up one hand to silence his friend as he looked at the caller ID, thumbing it to answer.

“Stark! What can I do for you my friend?” he boomed jovially, his smile fading quickly into a small frown that Loki knew, by long experience, meant the message was of grave concern.

Bucky shoved Thor in the shoulder and motioned and mouthed, _‘What?’_

Ignoring him, Thor moved away, speaking in low monotones.

“Yes. Yes. I do not know. I can only try to contact him. Yes. I will speak with the Captain. Alright. How will I relay this information to you? I’ll do my best.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked anxiously. Maybe they’d finally see some action. Gaming and horsing around was fun, but they were all climbing the walls from lack of formal activity. Not even training could take the edge off the super soldier’s adrenaline. 

“I must speak with the Captain, and contact Heimdall. There is trouble afoot,” he said ominously, striding quickly in the direction of the elevator to Cap’s level.

“That wasn’t at all cryptic!” Bucky complained after him. The Winter Soldier cast a side-eye at Loki. “Hey man, wanna play?” He jerked his thumb over at the television, gesturing with a controller.

“Not in this, or any other century,” Loki sniffed, stalking off in a haughty manner. He refused to show concern of any type in front of the soldier, although Thor's conversation with Stark and Bucky had bothered him more than he'd ever let on. Odin would be very unhappy if Heimdall got involved with another mess the mortals had probably gotten themselves into, and then where would the blame fall? Yours truly, of course. Still, he was part of the team, and there was no legitimate reason for him to act on his own until he was given a direct order.

Unimpressed with Loki's lack of enthusiasm, Bucky muttered, “Well fuck, settling down to do a little online PVP. It wasn’t as fun as kicking Thor’s ass, but it let off a little more steam while he waited to find out what the hell was going on.

\--

Tony sputtered, fighting like a mad dog and knocking out two agents, breaking one’s nose and dislocating the other’s shoulder before the man of iron was hit with some sort of modified taser, dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He shuddered, nerve synapses firing all wrong and interfering with his ARC reactor’s functioning. 

“You t-t-trying t-t-o ki-ll ma – me?” he stuttered.

Coulson shook his head. “You know better, Tony. What made you think going against Director Fury’s orders wasn’t going to land you in hot water? All this does is complicates things.”

Tony was already struggling to his feet, cuffed hands coming up in supplication as he staggered, leaning against a brick wall. “Why won’t you l-l-let the Avengers h-handle th-this?”

“This isn’t Avengers business. It’s the US government we’re talking about, and not our guys, either. FBI. They’ve always been wary of SHIELD. They don’t like that we operate outside their boundaries, or that your team operates outside of their jurisdiction. Makes’em nervous. C’mon, Tony. This is old hat. Why are you pressing the issue?”

“B-because I want to find G-granger, and Hawkeye’s kid. They’re all we g-got. If we start losing team members, the whole th-thing comes apart at the seams.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic. Just a little.”

Coulson came forward warily, keeping the Taser aimed at Stark. This time Tony went without a fight, all energy drained from his body. “Locking me up isn’t going to solve your problems.”

“No, but it’s going to keep you out of our hair until we get the Feds to tell us what the hell is going on, or until our intel reports in.”

“Why not just interrogate the fucking Feds?” Tony fished, but Coulson shoved him a little bit.

“Hush. Now get in there and be a good boy. I don’t like treating you like a second-class Avenger. You know that.”

“Then don’t do this. Let me out. Let me help. I’ve know some people who-"

“-that we can’t afford letting know about what’s going on." Colson interrupted. "Stark. Tony. Listen to me. This is bigger than you, than Lila, Hermione, any of us. Bigger than the team. We’re dealing with a global organization.”

“How do you know? You just told me-”

“And I always tell you the truth, right?” Coulson deadpanned.

Tony kicked at a wall, damaging his big toe as he swore. Phil closed the old-fashioned iron prison door behind him and locked it shut. “Don’t make me tie you up. I’ll do it.”

“Fuck you, and fuck Fury. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to find Clint’s daughter. Hermione’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. But Lila? She’s just a scared kid. She hasn’t had any formal training beyond what Clint’s shown her.”

“She’s a teenager that let herself get roped into something she should have had the sense not to,” Phil finished, stunning Tony once more.

“You’re blaming her for – for being abducted?”

Phil shrugged. “Teenagers are stupid. Don’t you remember the stupid shit you did when you were a kid?”

“That’s beside the point! She’s just a girl!”

“Yeah, one you KNOW Clint’s taught how to defend herself. She’ll be fine.”

“A teenage girl isn’t going to fight off someone with a gun to her head!”

“You don’t know if that’s the case.”

“I can take a wild fucking guess, Phil,” Tony spat, pettily satisfied at Coulson’s very brief look of disgust where the lougie landed right at the tips of his shiny shoes.

“None of the speculation matters. We can only deal with one person at a time. First things first. Clint’s kid isn’t the first priority. She’ll be fine. Probably used as collateral. I wouldn’t be surprised if a ransom demand rolled in pretty soon.”

“You’re going to let the Feds handle THAT?” Tony exclaimed, shoving his fists against the bars, the cuffs cutting into his wrists.

“Look. We gotta keep them off our scent as much as possible. They’re already pissed we’re keeping Granger from them.”

“They shouldn’t even want her for anything! Granger wouldn’t involve herself with anything shady! The woman is practically the epitome of a female Cap when it comes to playing by the book!”

“You obviously don’t know her half as well as you think you do. One of Agent Granger’s defining qualities in her hiring was her ability to improvise, think outside the box, and stay off record when we need discretion.”

Tony was silent. Coulson was implying that Granger was double-timing the team. If that were true, he certainly had miscalculated. Was Hermione keeping tabs on the team for SHIELD? The very thought burned in his gut, refusing to believe it but unable to let go of the distinct possibility. 

Then again, Coulson might be fucking with him.

“Lila will be fine. We’ll get her eventually.”

If she doesn’t get raped first,” Tony added meanly, spitting again in Phil’s direction. “When I get out of here, I’m suing the shit out of ALL of you motherfuckers.”

“Don’t make this worse for yourself, or for them. Hang tight buddy. We’ll get this squared away, and you can get back to your team.”

“Get out of here before I say something else I’m probably going to regret.”

“Meals at seven, one and seven. Try not to hurt yourself, huh? Or any more of my agents. Good help is hard to find. I’ll make sure someone throws you a pack of bathing wipes to clean up.”

Tony’s jaw clenched in anger, his cheek twitching. How the fuck was he supposed to clean up with his hands cuffed together? As it was, unless they had someone feed him, he'd have to eat like a dog off the dinner tray provided. What a fucking joke. The power-hungry, sneaky, closed-mouthed fuckers. He’d get out of there and make good on his threat.

At least he’d gotten a message out to Thor and Potter before his phone had been confiscated. The distraction he’d caused to buy him that few minutes was sure to land him in even more hot water when all was said and done. Tony only hoped Harry read between the lines and got his magical ass out here sooner rather than later. He knew if anyone would cut through the bullshit, it’s be Hermione’s old school pals.

Tony waited until Coulson was out of sight, side-eyeing the stupid camera trained right on him. Turning his body slightly to mask his hand movement, he opened his palm in a thrust-outward motion. "Come on, come on!" he muttered quietly, squinching his eyes shut, praying to nobody in particular one of his suits would respond.

After multiple attempts and more than an hour later of glaring at passing guards, Tony gave up temporarily, letting his head bang against the cool wall of his cell. He was exhausted, ached badly, and felt like he was going to throw up everything he'd eaten for the past month. 

He needed to rest, think of a plan, and do what he could from the inside to thwart Coulson and Fury, find his friends and fuck off back to Avengers tower. He'd round up Clint's family, too, and hide them so well SHIELD would never find them if he had to.

"Motherfuckers should know better than to mess with Tony Stark," he muttered again right before his eyes shut, head slumped to one side and he lost consciousness to a deep sleep.


End file.
